


Code

by kitty_ray



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Binary code, F/F, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, He has reached dad levels yet, I can math but not science so all my information is from wikipedia sorry, I don't know how to science, I don't??? think Allura's a teen??? She's like 28 in this btw, M/M, No Aliens, No Space, Not the main focus but it's definitely there, Original Character(s), Pidge goes by Katie for quite a long time, Pidge is GAAAAAAAY, Pidge is on the quest for vengeance, Pining, Science Stuff, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Shiro is the team brother and no one can tell me otherwise, So is Keith but what else is new?, They on the ground yall, Zarkon is evil what else is new, but Commander Holt? Not so much, first person POV, fluff?, gay fluff, hardcore pining, klance, matt is alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 12:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10536918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitty_ray/pseuds/kitty_ray
Summary: When Pidge's life (literally) goes up in flames, she vows to stop at nothing to find Shiro, the man who murdered her father.Except, he didn't. (But Pidge doesn't know that.)Finding him means entangling herself in the underground world of deals, drugs, and death, but that's a risk she's willing to take. She only has one month left, one month to find her brother and clear Shiro's name before time runs out--or Zarkon will destroy them all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's taken me since August to get the nerve to publish this. I don't have a real plot, nor do I have a good update schedule, but I hope yall like it! (This is for Pidge's birthday. Happy birthday, Pidge!)

My arm is scarred. I know because they won’t let me remove the bandages. Somehow, I’m always asleep whenever the nurses change them, so I always miss what it looks like now. The inquisitive part of my brain is telling me to rip them off and take a look, but the logical part says that there is a good reason why they are there. Logic wins this time (as it has with me for almost eighteen years of my life).

Someone knocks on my door, and I don’t even have to look up to know that it’s Mom. Without fail, she’s here everyday at 2:30 on the dot. “Katie,” she says softly, “I brought your tablet charger. Sorry I couldn’t bring it earlier; I’ve been swamped with work.”

I look up, but she’s not looking at me. She’s biting the inside of her cheek, her hands clutching at the handles of her purse as she stares at my bandages. Trying to bring her out of it, I slide them under the blankets and try to smile. “You have my charger?”

“Oh!” She says, snapping out of it. “I do! I don’t know how you find anything in that mess you call a room. It took me _hours_ just to find this! When you get home and healthy again, the first thing you’re doing is cleaning your room.” Her hands dug through her purse, and I smile. She’s chastising me even though her purse is a mess? It’s exactly what my mom would do. “Honestly, Katie, how do you know where anything is? How are you going to pack all of that up when you go to college? Just shoving things in boxes is not going to work.” Her tongue clicks. “Matt never let it get out of hand….”

My hand curls around the blanket as I wait for her to realize what she said, but it doesn’t come. She never notices.

Two weeks ago, I lost half of my family, but my mom almost lost everyone. I’m lucky to even be alive. The images are still clear in my head. Matt and Dad joking around while we sit in random places in Dad’s office, Chinese take out in our hands and on the desk, notes upon notes upon notes scattered all over the room. Summer break just started, meaning college was just around the corner. We were talking about what my dorm would be like, whether or not my roommate and I would get along (I voted no, Dad voted yes, Matt just shrugged), if this was the year I would try my hand in romance. Dad said something funny, and Matt laughed. Those are happy memories.

But then I smelled something burning, and Dad and Matt were running out into the lab, and I followed after them. Matt just barely managed to get me under something before it went off. I burned my arm on something. Something hit my head. Someone was standing in the doorway, carrying my brother away.

Takashi Shirogane.

I curled my working hand into a fist as I thought of him. He was the same age as my brother, and we treated him like family, I’ll admit I started to have _some_ feelings for him, but that ended a few months ago when we found out that he stole some of Dad’s research. (And when I realized that I am _extremely_ gay.) All of that affection turned into disgust. How could someone just betray the people that cared so much for them? It didn’t make any sense.

“Knock knock!”

Mom and I turn to look at the nurse that just walked in. Today, it’s Rosetta, a peppy nurse with dark hair and caramel covered skin. She’s wearing pink. Her curly hair is in a pony tail. Normally, I can’t stand overly-happy people, but Rosetta makes it work. Maybe it’s because she reminds me of how Mom was when I was younger. But just because I like her doesn’t mean that I don’t mess with her from time to time.

“The doctor says that you might be discharged in a few days given your speedy recovery. That’s good right?” Rosetta says as she starts to check my vitals.

“Splendid.”

Rosetta didn’t hear the sarcasm in my voice—or maybe she ignored it—and continued on with her work and whatnot. I get stern glare from Mom. Of course _she_ heard it. She’s been programmed to detect when I’m being serious or just snarky. Typical mom stuff.

“Well, Katie,” my nurse walks to the door and puts back the clipboard, “all there is left to have Dr. Morrison check you out, and then you’re all set! You’ll be back home in no time.”

Yeah, but home isn’t going to be the same anymore. Matt’s not going to be there to tease me. Dad isn’t going to be able to make his famous lasagna anymore. It’ll just be me and Mom. How is it ever going to be normal again?

* * *

I curl into my covers as soon as I am left alone. My bed— _my_ bed, not the hospital one that I could’ve buried in the ground and not care about it at all—is plush and covered in fresh sheets and pillow cases. Rosetta applied new bandages to my arm after checking it before I left, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to look. I didn’t want to know what it looks like. I didn’t want to remember.

Nothing in my room has changed. That’s good. It’s good. Maybe if I close my eyes, my family will come bursting through the door, and they’ll act like nothing ever happened. Yeah. That’s what will happen.

But it doesn’t. They’re not there when I open my eyes. They’re not there when I walk out into the hall. They’re not there when I go into the living room. They’re just not there.

Mom is. She’s curled up on our clunky recliner that we shoved into the corner of the room. Her eyes are glossy, and she’s staring outside the balcony at something. I clear my throat. “What’s for dinner?”

She starts, her legs unfurling as she sits straight up. “Katie! I-I didn’t see you there! I was just…” She looks around before her eyes fall on the magazine next to her. “I was just reading, and—”

“Mom.”

Mom’s shoulders slump as her face falls. She looks away. I’m debating whether or not I should go over there (of course I should go over there! She’s my mom, god damn it!), but she just swipes at her eyes and stands up. “Dinner. We need dinner.” Her nose is red as she smiles. “Want to help me make it?”

Half an hour later and all we have made is soup. Which is good, I guess. Not exactly the hearty meal I _should_ be eating, but Mom hasn’t been to the store since the accident, so I’m not going to give her any grief. Maybe I’ll have to do the shopping for a bit. Give Mom a break. Then again, maybe doing things like this could take her mind off of it. It could be good for her. Good for us.

“We haven’t…” Mom starts before clearing her throat. Her brown eyes won’t meet mine. “We haven’t discussed anything about college. Are you-are you still going to go this semester?” She finally looks up. “No one would blame you if you didn’t. You could stay, home, take online courses, then go next semester.”

“No.” I say, my hand curling around my spoon. “I’m… I’m not just going to _not_ go. I think it’ll do me some good to get out and continue on. Dad wouldn’t want me to just give up. He wouldn’t want me to….” I trail off, unable to think of what to say next. Mom is quiet as she stirs her soup. It hurts her. It hurts her so much. She’s lost Dad. She’s lost Matt. She almost lost me too, and now that I’m going away, she feels like she already has. I want to stay and be here for her, but there’s something else I have to do. Dad’s death wasn’t an accident. It was murder, and I think I know who killed him.

* * *

When Mom leaves for work the next day, I finally get to work myself. Dad’s and Matt’s laptops sit on either side of my desktop, and I have quite a few notepads and several (I repeat, _several)_ pens scattered in front of me. The research Dad and Matt were working on was pulled up on Dad’s laptop, security feed from that day on mine, and my own research on Matt’s. I replay the security footage again. One moment it’s a blank hallway, the next a large figure in a hoodie walking down it, then it cuts out. Nothing, just static. Then it cuts back in just in time to see that figure carrying my brother down the hall.

The man is bigger, and his hair is different, but there’s no mistaking who it is. I zoom in on the feed just in case. Definitely him.

I switch over to Matt’s computer again then groan at the results. The only things coming up for _‘Takashi Shirogane’_ are articles about him and my family, him leaving the team, and him being the number one suspect in the murder of Dr. Samuel Holt, but that’s not what I need. I already _know_ all that stuff. You’d think that things like home addresses or cell phone numbers would be easy to find.

It’s like Shiro totally wiped himself from existence. It’s like he doesn’t even exist.

“No, no, no, no!” My fingers smash against the keyboard angrily as I scream out my frustrations. He’s not in the school’s database anymore (meaning he completely moved out and whatnot), his old phone number has been disconnected (trust me; I’ve tried), nothing. How hard is it to find a fucking child prodigy?

My phone dings. It’s the one device I haven’t looked at in these past few hours (read: days). Sighing, I adjust my glasses and reach for it. “Huh,” I say as I read the name. I was expecting my best friend Cass, or maybe Mom, but Hunk Garrett? Not at all.

**From: Hunky-monkey**

_ >> Hey. _

A year or two ago, Dad introduced me to a group of students that were more or less interns, still students and in a position under Shiro and Matt but valuable nonetheless. Hunk was one of them. (He is (was?) an engineering major that created all sorts of machines that helped Dad and the rest of the team in their research. He’s a lovable dork with anxiety and crazy ideas that almost always work.) Occasionally, he’d text me to ask if I wanted to hang out. The answer? Always yes.

**To: Hunky-monkey**

_ >> Hey _

He replies instantly, the bubble only appearing for a short time as he types rapidly.

**From: Hunky-monkey**

_ >> We haven’t talked in a while. How’s the arm? _

**To: Hunky-monkey**

_ >> Good thanks for asking _

**From: Hunky-monkey**

_ >>… _

_ >> How are YOU? _

I’m not used to people asking how I am. (Well, with the exception of my mom and the occasional doctor.) My fingers hover over the keyboard. _How_ am I?

Frowning, I lock my phone and place it face down on my desk. I don’t have time for distractions. I have to find Shiro, and my clock is ticking.

* * *

**_1:56_ **

**_1:57_ **

**_1:58_ **

I watch the clock as it changes, my mind numb but eyes refusing to close. I’m getting nowhere. If the police couldn’t find anything, then why did I think I could instead? My eyelids burn as I shut them for a second. When I open them again, it’s almost eight. Great. I’m losing time, _and_ I’m getting nowhere. Can it get any worse?

I really shouldn’t keep going, but I need sleep. I haven’t slept fully in a week. My gaze falls onto my unmade bed. It’s piled high with pillows and my favorite fluffy blanket and coziness…. Screw it. Research be damned. I ache as I stand up, my knees crackling and my back popping.

When I’m all settled in my bed (or rather, right after I just jumped on), I let my mind wander as my eyes focus on my bedroom door. Why isn’t there anything on Shiro? He’s a ghost. That’s it. That’s what he is. A ghost. A big, oversized, alive ghost. Wow, I’m so sleep-deprived that I’m thinking in oxymorons. Closing my eyes, I settle even further into my pillows.

Then my phone goes off, and I shoot out of bed to read it, and I’m nearly jumping for joy at the message.

**From: Starchild**

_ >> Got your boy. Takashi Shirogane, 25 yrs old, previously the intern for your late dad, yada yada yada _

_ >> But you already know all that. Shirogane is hiding out in Chinatown in an apartment. Kind of a small place. He literally pays like nearly 2 grand a month for it. What the shit boston _

_ >> Sending over the info now _

You could probably tell that Starchild is not his real name, but we’re both doing illegal things, so it’s best I don’t know it. He’s good, and I mean _really_ good. Better than me even. I mean, he could find where my target lives when I couldn’t even get a single recent article of him, the easiest thing to find.

**From: Starchild**

_ >> Hope that helps gunderson. Good luck on your man hunt. _

That definitely helps. Grinning, I grab a baseball cap before running out the door. (It was a Red Sox one that I got when I went with Cass and her filthy rich brother. He splurges occasionally and takes his sister (and her awesomely awkward best friend) to special outings like a game, but he mostly likes to save his earnings for a rainy day. I don’t blame him.) Mom won’t go in my room, so I’m not really concerned about the laptop programs running. Plus, I have some things I have downloading that I haven’t checked on.

Mom’s still asleep, so I sneak out as quietly as I can. Only Rover notices me. Good dog. Just as I’m about to turn the knob, he whines, and I groan. “No, Rove, I’m not going on a you-know-what. You’ll have to wait until Mom wakes up,” I whisper. But he just looks at me with those puppy-dog eyes and I melt. Grabbing his leash, I sigh. “Fine. C’mon.”

He yips and runs out the door, stopping just at the top of the staircase to wait for me. He wiggles as another little yip escapes.

The door locks with a click, and then we’re taking the stairs two at a time, Rover pulling me down all the way. He’s a little too anxious to get out. He’s a little too happy, too. Still, I can’t exactly say that the exercise won’t do us any good. Neither of us has quite gotten any since the accident.

I can’t take Rover to Chinatown because honestly, I’m not sure what’s going to happen there, so I take him back in after a good lap around the block. It’s been a while since I’ve walked these streets. They were starting to become unfamiliar, and it scares me just how much I have started to look at things differently now. Nothing’s the same any more. Nothing ever will be. Gripping Rover’s leash tighter, I hurry back to the apartment to drop him off before setting off on what I originally set out to do.

Chinatown is never dull. A little gross, has a weird smell every now and then, but never dull. I’m always fascinated by the people whenever I come here. (At some point of my life, I wanted to be a psychology major, but that was before I discovered the wonder world of computing and became the shit-in I am now. Cass, on the other hand, absolutely loves people and wants to get into their heads. It’s the perfect thing for her.) But I can’t pay attention to those things right now. I have to find Shiro. Inhaling, I continue through the streets, my fingers curling around a crumpled up piece of paper that I wrote Shiro’s address on.

There’s a little corner market near his apartment, so I go in to buy a drink and some breakfast. (I haven’t really eaten that much in the past couple of days thanks to “research”.) The cashier looks dead on his feet but somewhat happy to see me nonetheless. A customer’s a customer.

When the bell rings, the man perks up. “Ah, Shirokawa! Nice to see you this morning! Are you out on a run?”

“Yeah. Just stopped by to pick up a few things.” Shirokawa’s voice sent shivers up my spine. I know that voice. I know that voice all too well.

“Ah, yes, yes, take your time. As long as you need.”

I reach up and pull the ball cap lower on my head before turning around to the drink section He’s tall with a muscular build and a buzz cut on the lower half of his head. He has on a black hoodie, and something glimmers in the sunlight as he moves his right hand. It’s just like in the video. When he turns around, I drop my head and wait for him to go up to the cash register before following in suit. Why follow the address when I can just follow him now?

I’m out the door by the time Shiro’s turning the corner. (That cashier was really fast.) Panicking slightly, I job to catch up with him. He keeps disappearing in the crowds, weaving in and out of them, apologizing every time he runs into a person accidentally. When he turns down a wrong street, my brow creases. That’s not how he should be going home. It’s in the opposite direction. (I’ve looked it up.) it isn’t until he turns down another wrong street that it occurs to me that he’s purposely going the wrong direction. Shit. He’s on me.

We’re nearing his apartment complex now. I hide within the merchandise of a next door street vendor while he goes in, and after a minute or two, I follow. What are the chances that there is a buzzer that I need to ring to get in? God, I hope not. But in places like these? Of course there would be one. My eyes lock onto the buzzers. With a whine, I shift on my feet. “Just my luck.”

The back of my neck tingles in warning, like someone’s watching me, but I ignore it. Anxiety’s just acting up again.

I glance at the door knob. Doesn’t hurt to try. I realize too late that the door was cracked open on purpose. Maybe that’s because I’m getting a face-full of dirty wall with my arm—not the injured one, thankfully—twisted behind my back. I grit my teeth.

“What do you want?” a deep voice behind me asks. It’s a man’s obviously, and his body is pressed up against mine, preventing me from getting out. Shiro. He pushes me closer to the wall and growls out, “How did you find me?”

“What? Like you’re the only one with connections?”

His grip loosens, and he falters just enough for me to slip my arm out of his literal steel grip. That makes me pause. Steel? Why would he be wearing steel?

Shiro steps back before turning me around. He gasps. “Katie?” He glances out the door’s window briefly then back at me. “You shouldn’t be here. Go home.”

He’s going to kick me out, but I hold my ground, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him. “No. Not until you tell me why you killed my father.”

“Killed your—?” His eyes widened. “Katie, no. That wasn’t me, I promise. I-I can’t really—” He looks out the window again and curses. He’s frantic. “Look, I can’t talk about this with you right now. I promise to tell you everything if you just _go home.”_

“How do I know you’re not trying to trick me?”

“God _damn it,_ Katie, I’m not trying to trick you! I’m trying to keep you safe!”

Keep me safe? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? The only way I’ll be safe is if he’s behind bars and I’m with the police. I bite my lip and dig my hands into my pockets. “I’m not leaving.” I tell him. “So you better tell my why you killed my dad and took my brother right now or I’ll—”

Shiro grabs my arms and starts dragging me towards the stairs. At some point, I’m pretty sure I start yelling some ugly words that would make my grandmother roll over in her grave. But Shiro just takes it all in stride and mutters something about “Holt’s and out stubbornness”.

He stops in front of his apartment door (number 406) and jabs a key into the lock. My reasoning (the bad one) kicked in and told me that this is probably the best chance I’ll ever get to talk to him about halfway up the stairs, so I’ve stopped yelling curses. That doesn’t mean I’m not thinking them. And I’m _definitely_ thinking them.

“You better be telling me what I want to know, Shiro.” I say when we’re in his apartment. It’s barren when you walk in, the living room only having a sofa bed and a coffee table in it. Not even a TV. To my left, a small little kitchenette was all cozied up in the corner. (Shiro looks way too big to even fit in it without stubbing his toes or breaking a plate.) He turns to lock the deadbolt as I’m giving myself a tour. Definitely not a place I would’ve thought he would live in.

He sighs. “Don’t move,” he says then disappears down the hall into another room. I count to ten before I start heading towards his fridge. What? I didn’t eat breakfast. He doesn’t have much in there, just some fudge and apple cider donuts from the Public Market down on Hanover. I wonder where he gets the money to afford all this shit. No one’s exactly keen on hiring a wanted fugitive.

“I told you not to move, Katie.”

“Yeah, well, you should know better than expecting me to obey.”

Shiro smiles a little and scratches his head. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

He’s holding a laptop carrier chocked full with stuff (most likely papers and what not), and there is a book bag strap hanging off his left shoulder. I get the feeling he’s not just going to the library. As casual as I can be, I lean on his refrigerator and try not to act like I care, which isn’t really hard for me. “Going somewhere?”

Shiro doesn’t pay attention to me. Instead, he goes over to a dresser that I hadn’t noticed earlier and pulls out a bunch of files. They end up going into his book bag. Okay, so he’s not going on a trip. Hopefully.

“Shiro.” I call to him, but he’s busy searching through the drawers to acknowledge me. My foot taps on the ground. “Shiro?” Again, he ignores me, and I can hear him muttering under his breath. Now I’m frustrated. “Hey, Shiro!”

He jumps and blinks. “Oh. Right. You’re here.”

I’m here? I can’t be _that_ hard to forget!

Outside of the apartment, I hear the stairs creaking and a muffled argument. The sounds dull as they near the door. Shiro freezes momentarily before cursing. “Great, so now _everyone_ knows where I live.” He walks towards me, shoves his computer bag into my hands, and pushes me into the direction of the bedroom, completely ignoring my protests (again). “I don’t have time to explain, but you have to get out of here. Go out the fire escape. Meet me down at that convenience store a few blocks down. And whatever you do,” he looks away from the door to meet my gaze, “don’t let anyone get this bag.”

“I told you I’m not—”

“Going anywhere? Yeah, I got that. But you have to leave right now.” Someone’s yelling outside, knocking on the door and calling for a ‘Mr. Shirokawa’. For some reason, I don’t think that it’s just a neighbor.

Shiro runs a hand through his white hair. A metal hand. A metal hand that is most definitely not a natural thing in the world. I can’t help but stare at it. When did he get that? More importantly, _how_ did he get that?

“Look, Katie. I know that you don’t trust me anymore, but you have to right now. Just this once. I’ll explain everything later when we’re someplace safe.” His eyes are pleading. “Please, Katie.”

I don’t know why, but Shiro is desperate to get me out of here. Not a very father-murderer thing to do. My hands grip the computer bag handle tightly. “You promise to tell me everything?”

“Yes.”

“Even about my father?”

“Yes.”

“And where my brother is?”

_“Katie!”_

This is stupid. This is so stupid. No. I shouldn’t do it. Nuh-uh. Just leave the bag and go home. Call the police. Tell them where Shiro really is and where he’s heading. Get vengeance on Dad and find Matt. Yeah.

The computer bag is heavy, heavier than it should be with a normal computer and a charger. There’s a cross-body strap attached to it. I put it on. God, I’m going to regret this. Inhaling, I nod. “Okay. You better tell me _everything,_ Shirogane. And I mean _everything.”_

Shiro’s not given a chance to respond before I’m running towards and open window and climbing out onto the fire escape. I don’t look up. Not even when I hear the door break open. Not even when I hear gunshots. And especially not even when men are shouting at me to stop running. Because I know that if I did, I’d be dead.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Au revoir, my lovelies!


End file.
